by Kate Ellis
‘You believed him?’
‘The officer in question has an exemplary record. Temples was sentenced to thirty years minimum for a reason.’
‘You’ve been told that a skull’s been found at his former home?’
‘Presumably his missing victim?’
‘It’s being analysed but an archaeologist friend of mine is keeping an open mind. He thinks it might have been buried for some time, possibly even centuries.’
The governor frowned. ‘Let’s hope it’s the girl whose remains were never found, then at least her family will have some closure.’
‘You’re convinced of his guilt.’
‘I go by what the courts decide, Inspector. That’s my job. But yes, I think the jury made the right choice in the Temples case. There was plenty of evidence and the testimony of that girl who survived clinched it.’
‘Her name was Carrie Bullen. She couldn’t remember the actual attack. The last thing she recalled was being with Temples in his studio. Loss of memory is common after trauma, I believe.’
‘Didn’t she kill herself?’
‘That’s right.’ Wesley thought it was time to change the subject. ‘I understand he expressed certain unusual interests at the time of his trial. Revenants – corpses coming back to life to torment the living.’
The governor smiled again. ‘Zombies and ghosts are quite an obsession of his. He reads everything he can on the subject in the prison library. In fact that’s where he spends most of his time. He’s writing a book.’
‘Crime novel, is it?’ It was the first time Rachel had spoken and the governor’s smile widened.
‘How did you guess? Only it’s not the blood-and-gore serial killer stuff you’d expect. It’s quite gentle actually – Agatha Christie-style village murder set in the nineteen fifties. He gave me a copy to read and I must say I rather enjoyed it – once I’d forced myself to forget who wrote it. I was pleasantly surprised.’
So was Wesley. ‘Anything in it about the undead?’
‘Quite a lot. The plot hinges around an old lady who claims to have seen a neighbour who died a few weeks previously. The neighbour’s long-standing enemy in the village is found dead and the old lady insists the corpse is responsible. Quite a good plot actually. He’s sent it off to agents.’
‘Is that allowed?’
‘I don’t think there are any hard and fast rules about it but I must say if it was accepted I wouldn’t feel happy about it. Mind you, it wouldn’t surprise me if a publisher considered it good for publicity. I hear there’s nothing like notoriety for getting to the top of the best-seller lists.’
Wesley didn’t comment but he guessed she could well be right. ‘Is there anything we should know before we interview him? Any subjects that make him angry or … ’
‘If you get him onto the subject of the undead you’ll start off on the right foot.’
‘I’ll remember.’
Ten minutes later they were sitting in the windowless interview room reserved for police interviews and meetings with lawyers. The room smelled of stale dinners, suggesting the kitchens weren’t far away. It made Wesley feel claustrophobic and one glance at Rachel told him she wasn’t comfortable there either. But he knew prison wasn’t meant to be a place of comfort – not even for the representatives of law and order.
The door opened and Wesley stood up. The man who walked in, followed closely by a burly prison officer, was smaller than Wesley had expected and more slightly built. His dark hair was long and peppered with grey. At one time he would have been handsome but he carried too much weight around the middle and his face had the pallor of one who rarely sees sunlight. His mouth was wide and his eyes were a dull grey. He didn’t look like a killer but then killers rarely did. If they did then, as Gerry had often observed, the police’s job would be a lot easier.
‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ Temples asked, his gaze focused on Rachel.
‘We’d like a chat, that’s all.’
‘Two police officers don’t come up all the way from Devon to pass the time of day. Has there been a development? New evidence?’ He sat down and crossed his legs, apparently relaxed. But Wesley could see his nervous fingers pulling at the fabric of his grey sweatshirt.
Wesley had heard that question before and it had always been asked with eager hope. But Temples sounded unenthusiastic, as though he was going through the motions.
‘Yes, there has been a development. Strangefields Farm has a new owner who’s renovating the house and building an upmarket holiday village in the grounds. The builders working there made a discovery.’
‘Dry rot?’
Wesley didn’t react to the man’s feeble attempt at humour.
‘Worse than that. They found a skull.’
Temples looked at Wesley accusingly. ‘It must have been planted. I know what you lot get up to.’
‘You’re denying that it belongs to Gemma Pollinger, the girl whose remains were never found?’ said Wesley.
‘Of course I am. I told the police who the killer was but they never listened.’
‘You accused an artist called Jonny Sykes, who also had a studio at Strangefields Farm. You claimed he vanished without a word around the time the last girl went missing but the police found no evidence he was ever there – or that he even existed. Not even any of his paintings.’
‘His paintings were there all right only the police mistook them for mine. Jonny used to copy my style – hadn’t an idea of his own. He definitely existed. I even gave a description.’
‘Which was so vague it could have fitted anybody. The other girls who modelled for you never saw him. The ones who got out alive,’ he added.
‘He worked in a studio at the other end of the house. That’s why they never saw him. Besides, he didn’t usually go in for portraits. Landscapes were his speciality.’
Temples half rose from his seat, glowering over Wesley who was relieved when the prison officer ordered him to sit and he obeyed without question.
‘Let’s get back to the skull,’ said Wesley. ‘How do you explain the fact that it was found in your former home?’
‘I can’t. I don’t know anything about it.’
Wesley suspected he was lying. ‘It was in the cellar, in a cupboard near the stairs. You see our problem, Mr Temples: you’re a convicted killer and human remains are found in your former home.’
‘It was an old house. Lots of people have lived there over the years. I hardly went down to that cellar except to get rid of junk I didn’t want.’
‘So you’re blaming a former occupant?’ said Rachel with disbelief, earning herself a scathing look from the prisoner.
‘I’m not blaming anybody. My grandfather moved in after the war so this skull you’re talking about could have been there before then. You’re making lazy assumptions. The police always do.’
‘Not in your case. The evidence against you was overwhelming. The girls’ clothes; the metal piping you used to render them unconscious; the rope you used to strangle them; the knife you used to mutilate their faces … ’
‘That evidence was planted. I was innocent.’ Rachel received another hostile look. ‘Have you finished? I’ve got things to do.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Wesley. ‘There’s been another murder.’
‘Well I’ve got a cast-iron alibi this time,’ Temples said with a smirk. ‘You can ask anybody here. They’ll vouch for me.’
Wesley ignored him and carried on. ‘A woman was murdered a few days ago. Knocked out, strangled with a rope and her face mutilated with a knife. Her naked body was found in water – the lake at Bereton Nature Reserve. Someone’s copying you, Jack. How do you feel about that?’
‘They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Inspector. Only it isn’t me they were imitating because I didn’t do it.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d have much of a taste for old clichés, Jack. You being an author. The governor told us about your book.’ He looked at Rachel. �
��We’re impressed.’
‘When you’re in here you have a lot of time on your hands. And as for clichés, I regard them as a form of shorthand. An easy way of expressing a point when you’re talking to the ignorant.’
Wesley let the insult go unchallenged. ‘I understand you have a particular interest in revenants – corpses who return from the dead.’
The dullness in Temples’ eyes suddenly vanished. ‘It’s always been a fascination of mine. Most people have no knowledge of the subject apart from what they see in zombie movies. And zombies are part of Haitian folklore; nothing to do with Devon.’ He looked directly at Wesley. ‘Are your people from Haiti by any chance? Is that why you’re so interested?’
Wesley shook his head. He had no desire to share any details of his family’s roots with a killer. ‘My degree’s in archaeology and I came across a number of what we termed deviant burials while I was studying, usually individuals who had met violent deaths or were outcasts from society.’
Wesley knew he had Temples’ attention.
‘They used to cut off the heads and placed boulders on the graves. Sometimes they’d cut out the hearts and burn them.’
‘You didn’t do any of those things to your victims. Weren’t you afraid they’d come back and haunt you?’
The fervour in Temples’ eyes vanished in an instant. ‘Perhaps they would have done … if I’d killed them,’ he said quietly.
‘Does anybody write to you in here?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Anybody who wants to know about your crimes?’
‘It happens. People can be very ghoulish. I get a lot of letters from ladies. Even proposals of marriage.’
Wesley noticed Rachel wrinkling her nose in disgust. He wished she hadn’t shown such disapproval. Nothing would be gained from alienating the prisoner.
‘Anybody you correspond with regularly?’
‘One or two.’
Wesley resolved to ask the governor about the letters. If somebody had become obsessed with Temples’ crimes, it might be a suitable place to start if they were searching for a copycat.
‘How do you know Linda Payne?’
Temples straightened his back, suddenly alert. ‘What about her?’
‘Please answer the question.’
‘Linda went away to London with her mother when she was small. She’s my half-sister.’
This was something neither of them had expected. But it explained the photograph – and the secrecy about her background.
It was Rachel who spoke first. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you Linda’s dead. It’s her murder we’re investigating.’
The little colour left in Temples’ face drained away and his shock was palpable.
‘Who knew you were related?’
‘Not many people, I don’t suppose. It wasn’t something she boasted about. How did she … ?’
‘Someone copied your MO.’
Temples buried his head in his hands and when he looked up Wesley saw tears welling in his eyes.
‘Tell us about her,’ said Wesley gently.
‘My mother died when I was young and my father married again and his new wife had Linda. Then when my dad and the wife split up she went to London, taking Linda with her. Linda always used her mother’s maiden name – Payne – and I didn’t see her all the time she was growing up. Then one day she turned up at the farm out of the blue and said she’d fallen out with her mum so she’d come to find me – her long-lost half-brother.’
‘When was this?’
‘Nineteen ninety-six.’
‘So she was there around the time of the murders? Why wasn’t she called to give evidence at your trial?’
‘She’d left before the girls started disappearing. Her bitch of a mother found out where she was and she turned up and whisked her back to London. Linda was only fifteen and her mother didn’t want her involved with me – thought I was bad news. I haven’t seen her since then; neither of them even came to my trial.’
‘Her name never came up in the investigation.’
‘She was only young and I guess her mother did her best to keep her away from all the fuss. The last thing the old bitch would have wanted was for the press to get wind of the connection so she made sure they lay low.’ Temples paused. ‘To tell you the truth it upsets me to talk about Linda.’
‘So you were close?’
‘I wouldn’t say so. But blood’s thicker than water, isn’t it?’ He pressed his lips together in a stubborn line. The subject was closed.
They reported back to the governor before they left, breaking the news of Temples’ half-sister’s murder.
‘My guess is that someone found out who she was and took revenge on her brother through her,’ she said, echoing Wesley’s own thoughts. The contents of the file labelled ‘family’ had been taken from Linda’s cottage, suggesting the killer hadn’t wanted them to discover Linda’s true identity.
Before they left they were provided with details of everyone who’d corresponded with Jackson Temples while he’d been incarcerated there. As the electronic doors shut behind them and they found themselves once more in the world of the free, Wesley was engulfed by a feeling of relief. Nevertheless, he thought he’d connected with Temples through his sympathy at Linda’s death and their shared interest in the past and slowly things were becoming clearer in his mind.
Then he heard Rachel’s voice. ‘It’s almost five o’clock. Do you think we should stay up here tonight or drive back?’
Even though he’d warned Pam that he’d probably be away for the night he knew he should opt to drive back. However, it was rush hour; the time when the motorways were often transformed into giant car parks.
‘Taking the traffic into account we’ll face long delays if we leave now. I’ve been hearing horror stories of the journey taking eight hours or more so why don’t we get some rest and set off first thing in the morning?’
His words sounded reasonable. But he couldn’t forget what happened last time he’d been up north alone with Rachel and a small inner voice told him to get in the car and keep driving.
Instead he heard himself saying, ‘I saw a Premier Inn on the way here. We could try there. And we’ll need something to eat.’
Rachel nodded, with an almost imperceptible smile.
‘We need to find out what part, if any, Linda Payne played in Temples’ crimes all those years ago. And I want to know if any of the women who’ve been writing to Temples has been getting ideas about proving his innocence.’
‘If there’s a murder with the same MO they’ll assume we’ll think we got the wrong man and reopen the case.’
‘Exactly,’ said Wesley as he unlocked the car.
28
Wesley and Rachel agreed that they needed a drink so they made for the pub next to the hotel.
‘This place reminds me of a barn,’ Rachel said as they walked into the large empty bar.
‘Well, you grew up on a farm so you should know.’
His words made her smile. After the tensions of the day they needed to wind down so once they’d eaten Rachel ordered a large glass of Pinot Grigio and Wesley a pint of bitter.
The beer was indifferent but he drank thirstily, as did Rachel. When her glass was empty she pushed it towards him.
‘Another?’
She nodded and when he got back from the bar he saw her fidgeting with the beer mat in front of her, staring at it as though it was the most fascinating thing in the room. When he put the wine down in front of her the spell was broken and she looked up.
‘You OK?’
She didn’t answer. Instead she picked up the glass and drank.
‘Is it Temples? Did you let him get to you?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe women write to him. Actually propose to him.’
‘No accounting for taste.’
She took another large gulp of her wine.
‘Remember last time we came up north together?’
Her ques
tion made Wesley uneasy. ‘I thought we’d agreed to put that behind us.’
‘I know but … it’s difficult.’
‘Look, Rach, I—’
‘I know what you’re going to say. You love Pam and the kids and—’
‘What about Nigel?’
He saw that her eyes were brimming with tears and he experienced a sudden urge to comfort her. But he sat quite still, nursing his beer.
‘What about him?’ she said, looking away.
He scanned the room, hoping no one was watching. Then he told himself it wouldn’t have mattered if they were. Nobody knew them there. They were an anonymous couple and, for all anyone knew, they were together.
She looked at him, uncertainty in her eyes. ‘We could always buy a bottle of wine – take it back to the hotel.’
‘We should probably call it a night. We’ve got an early start in the morning.’
‘It’s Saturday night, Wes. I feel like making the most of my freedom.’
Wesley drained his glass and stood up. ‘It’s tempting but … ’
Reluctantly she stood too and followed him out. They walked back to the hotel in silence and parted on the corridor. Their rooms were next door but one to each other. Too close, Wesley thought as he shut his door behind him.
A couple of minutes passed before he heard a soft tapping on the door. Even though he knew it wouldn’t be wise to answer, he did.
‘Can I come in?’
He stood aside, his heart beating fast. ‘You should go, Rach,’ he said gently.
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘What about?’
She made for the bed and sat down. Wesley took the armchair near the window.
‘I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing marrying Nigel.’ She hesitated. ‘I keep thinking about us together – you and me. I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid but I can’t help it.’
‘Nigel’s a good man. He’ll make you happy.’
Wesley made his way over to her and when she stood up to face him he took her in his arms and kissed her cheek. He told himself it was a brotherly gesture, though if he’d been honest with himself he would have realised it was nothing of the kind. Then he thought of Pam. Temptation was all very well but he had a family and Pam’s illness had brought home to him how much he really cared for her. Besides, he and Rachel had to work together and he’d witnessed office dalliances that had turned toxic. He took his arms from her shoulders and stepped back.